


Touch of Evil

by firedup



Series: Driving Towards the Daylight [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, PwP...ish?, shortly after Recall, some blood and violence, there's character development in there if you squint real hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-25 07:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firedup/pseuds/firedup
Summary: In the nightCome to meYou know I want your touch of evilIn the nightPlease set me freeI can't resist a touch of evilAroused with desireYou put me in a tranceA vision of fireI never had a chanceA dark angel of sinPreying deep from withinCome take me in(A Touch of Evil/ Judas Priest)It is Hanzo who sets the terms for their encounters.





	1. Chapter 1

If there's one thing Jesse McCree has to admit about Genji's brother, it's this: watching him work with his bow and arrows is a thing of beauty. There's the focus that only comes with doing something you're damn good at, the clearness of purpose, the smoothness of movement, every superfluous grip, breath, hell, every blink of an eye, long abandoned for something streamlined and lethal. Notch; draw; loose; bullseye. Move on to the next target. Notch. Draw. Loose. Bullseye. When all the arrows are spent, he'll gather them up and start again, perfectly focused, perfectly poised. It's not training; it looks like a meditation, of a kind that Jesse himself is only too familiar with, that of performing an act so ingrained in muscle memory that it needs no more thinking at all over and over until the mind blanks and all thought is quieted. Blessedly quieted.

 

He's watching Hanzo shoot from the entrance to the range, quite openly. There's no way in hell the archer hasn't noticed him, but seeing as he gives no sign as to whether this blatant intrusion is unwelcome, Jesse doesn't feel the need to do the polite thing and either ask or leave him alone. There's a furrow between Hanzo's brows that might be concentration or irritation, it's hard to tell with him. The guy only seems to have two sets of gears, or at the very least Jesse has yet to see an expression from him that isn't either a total blank or cold, haughty anger.

 

Not for the first time, he wonders at Genji's motivation in reaching out to his brother. In the weeks since Jesse finally answered the recall, the older Shimada has not made so much as an attempt to reach out to any of the new Overwatch members. He rebuffs every friendly gesture, he hardly ever speaks to anyone, and he succesfully frightened their newest addition, gentle, shy little Mei-Ling Zhou, into flitting from any room he enters, within five minutes of their first meeting. The only mitigating factor is that Hanzo's not with them all the time, leaving in between missions to do his own thing, returning as needed.

 

Without that, Jesse is pretty sure he might have already done something rash. And that, Genji wouldn't easily forgive him. The cyborg seems convinced that his brother will come round, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Jesse isn't so hopeful. Someone who tried to off his own fucking brother and then spent the next ten years in a brooding fit isn't just going to suddenly open up and decide to become a normal human being.

 

... alright, somewhat normal human being. According to Overwatch standards.

 

He shifts his weight slightly, never taking his eyes off Hanzo. Had this been anyone else, he would have already approached them, to strike up a conversation and try his hand at a bit of friendly flirting. Maybe something'd come of it, maybe not; fine with him either way as long as he gets to have a bit of fun with a teammate, bond a little, get to know them. Jesse likes people (generally), likes connecting to them when he gets the chance.

 

Hanzo has made it very, very clear that he doesn't share the sentiment.

 

The furrow between these regal brows has gotten deeper. Not concentration, then. The ink-black eyes flick over to him and Jesse assumes his best charming, "I'm bullshittin' you and you know it" grin just in time for it.

 

"There is more than one range to practice at, you do not have to wait for me to finish to get started.", Hanzo deadpans, clearly annoyed, which brings the total of different emotions Jesse has seen on the archer's face so far up to three. He's almost impressed.

 

"Hey, let a guy enjoy watchin' some master archery.". Jesse shrugs lightly, not ashamed to try some good, old-fashioned buttering-up in an attempt to loosen the guy up. It works just as well as everything else did, which is to say, not at all. Instead, Hanzo scoffs at him. "You have clearly not been paying attention at the team trainings if you think this is master-level archery. Not that I think you would recognize it if you did.".

 

Well, there goes the rest of Jesse's patience with Mr. Shimada. "Yeah, 'cuz you clearly know so much about me...", he drawls, giving the brim of his hat a flick upward. The motion seems to draw Hanzo's eyes to it like movement does a cat's. They rest on it for a second, then move down, raking Jesse's clothing with a look, and settle on the belt buckle. "I know enough.".

 

"Tch. Pretty damn fast to judge people.".

 

"I have had several weeks in which to do that, 'cowboy'. I know enough.".

 

Jesse crosses his arms over his chest, still casual on the outside while inside he's starting to seethe. The only sign he's willing to show of just how pissed he is with this motherfucker is the thickening drawl he allows to creep into his words. "'n I've had a few weeks to get the measure'a you, an' you ain't measurin' up too good, m'darlin'. Yer pretty damn high'n mighty for som'un who's s'posed ta be makin' amends for nearly killin' his damn brother.".

 

A sharpshooter learns to feel his mark. At the moment when the trigger's pulled, in that split instant before the gun bucks in your hand, kickin' like a pissed-off mare, you _feel_  if it's gonna be a hit, a miss, or a bullseye. Before the bullet even hits, you _know_. With that same certainty, Jesse knows he's just scored a dead hit. Before Hanzo's eyes go wide and white, then black and wild, before he rounds on him, teeth bared and Jesse thinks he's actually going to bite him, before a hand fists in the front of his shirt and the fabric rips somewhere with a sharp little tearing sound, he knows that he's dealt him a lethal blow, that now he's face-to-face with a wounded animal lashing out in any way it can, at its most dangerous now with the blood gushing from it.

 

Adrenaline kicks in, as always, making him go cool and still while the world slows and his senses seem to sharpen, picking out details that he would pass over at any other time. He's trained himself for this since childhood until it's a reflex. With heart pumping and breath coming deep and fast, he's at his best; always has been.

 

(He knows it's the same for Hanzo. They're more similar in more ways than he'd like to admit. The rage buffeting him is a show of weakness on the archer's part and Hanzo knows this. It's only going to make him _more_  furious, this knowledge, and that's why Jesse stays still like a mountain in a storm, unbothered.)

 

"What do _you_  know-", another yank on his shirt, another tearing sound as the fabric gives, "-about what I've done-", followed up by a shove, "- and what I've done to atone for it?!".

 

(Hanzo's right in his face now, snarling. Some inane impulse wants Jesse to tip his head forward and swallow that snarl, to grip the back of the archer's neck hard enough to leave bruises and shove his tongue down that throat, inhale the fire he's breathing. It's gone in an instant, but- the heat in his bones is not.)

 

"Yah, ya're a big one on the martyr shit, I noticed.". Disdain dribbles over the words like syrup, and Hanzo's nostrils flare.

 

(They're almost chest to chest now, close enough to touch and Hanzo's livid, _hot_.)

 

Who moved first, he'll never know. His lip splits under the crash of teeth and the copper tang of blood fills his mouth, together with Hanzo's tongue. He's quick to bite down on it, chases it when it retreats, both their mouths open and breaths harsh in the space between them. Jesse brings a hand up to try and grip Hanzo's neck like he imagined, or maybe grip his hair, whichever comes first, shoves a knee between the archer's legs, crowds him backward against the wall that he remembers being somewhere around here. Hanzo, though, Hanzo's having none of it. Jesse might outmatch him in height and outweigh him to boot, but he's just an honest outlaw matched against a fuckin' ninja. It's no surprise, then, who ends up on his back with said ninja straddling his lap and crushing a hand against his windpipe and _fuck_ , Jesse hasn't been this hard this fast since he was a friggin' teen.

 

Hanzo grinds down. Jesse arches up.

 

He may be seeing stars but he knows what he's feeling. Even through a double layer of clothing, that is definitely a hard-on to rival the one he's currently sporting. And the layers are being removed, a nimble hand making quick work of his belt buckle, fly, and zipper. Something that isn't his clothing rustles next, and when Hanzo grinds into him again, this time, he feels hot, hard flesh.

 

 _Sweet Mary mother of Christ_ \--

 

A hand wraps around them, squeezing them together, and it's a good thing, really, that he can't draw a full breath right now with the hand around his neck because otherwise he might have screamed. Hanzo's working them both furiously, working them _dry_  which really should have hurt like a bitch and maybe it does but Jesse's so far beyond the caring horizon now that he's approaching it from the other side, and soon, dry isn't an issue anyway, not with the way his (their?) cock is weeping. He's light-headed from lack of oxygen, hands uselessly scrabbling over the floor to find something to hold onto, and his body's burning from the core out. Above him, he can hear Hanzo's desperate panting, a little hitch creeping into his breath that he would never, ever have expected. Funny enough, it's that what does him in.

 

(He never _came_  so hard since he was a teen either.)

 

Hanzo grinds down one last time, slow and hard, curls in on himself with a strangled noise, his hand slips from Jesse's neck, which he's duly grateful for. While he's still busy gulping down air and fighting the blackness creeping in from the edges of his vision, Hanzo gets to his feet.

 

(He shouldn't be mourning the loss of that solid weight as much as he does.)

 

Rustling again. He cracks his eyes open to see Hanzo bend over him and wipe his hand off on his shirt, businesslike. _Asshole_. The archer then collects his bow and leaves the mess that is one Jesse McCree to gather himself up and clean up as best he can and sneak back to his room hoping to hell that he won't run into anyone else on the way while wondering all the time- _What the fuck was that about?!_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The dragons are a roaring force of destruction, a tornado packed into two sleek, serpentine shapes. It's a good thing Jesse is nowhere near close to the firefight when Hanzo summons them and that the only hostiles in his vicinity all have a bullet-hole in the skull because he turns into a sitting duck the moment he spots them, motionless and breathless. The skin around his right eye tightens, bones behind it growing hot. A piece of him calling out to kin, reveling in the might and savagery of them, just as Jesse himself revels in their sheer beauty. He doesn't know if Hanzo's two are really that much more breathtaking than Genji's, or if he had simply forgotten what that was like in the years since he last fought side-by-side with the younger brother. But breathtaking, that they are.

 

Judging from Lena's weak "Golly." wavering over the comms, he's not the only one who feels that way.

 

The word pulls him back to the present. Right. Time to get out of here. "A'ight, folks, I think that was our signal. Scatter, lose pursuit, meet at the rendezvous in sixty. Good job, everyone.". There's a chorus of affirmation in several languages and then radio silence as the team, hopefully, follows his order. Jesse himself vaults down over a concrete banister into a backyard and from there makes his way into a maze of tiny alleys. He loves these old mediterranean towns for how easy it is to lose yourself in them.

 

The hairs at the back of his neck suddenly prickle.

 

Well... _most of the time_  it is easy to lose oneself in them.

 

He pivots on his heel, Peacekeeper out and cocked, aiming at the spot the disturbance came from, and barely stops the clenching of his trigger finger in time. "Goddammit, Hanzo! _Don't_ do that, I almost shot you!", he pants, wide-eyed with shock as his heart hammers in his chest.

 

The archer doesn't grace that with an answer. He's silent as he leaps down from the roof he had been on, lands almost without a sound (fuckin' ninjas), and makes his way over to where Jesse stands frozen with his revolver in hand and suddenly unsure if he might not need to use it here, after all. There's something intense about Hanzo in this moment, striding toward him with his customary regal poise while still looking to all the world like a predator on the prowl. Faint wisps of blue light flicker out of existence around and behind him, clearly visible to Jesse's eye as it kindles again at such proximity. He steps brazenly right into Jesse's space, tilts his head up and Jesse catches the briefest glimmer of liquid coffee brown because Hanzo's eyes are already slipping shut before their lips even meet (and aren't his eyes black?-).

 

The first brush feels like what Jesse imagines being hit by lightning must feel like, or possibly, being struck by one of those dragons. Without conscious volition, he presses back even as he reels from it, as if Hanzo's mouth were a magnet and him an piece of iron. That mouth parts under his, in the same split-second, to a tiny sound of indrawn breath.

 

Not a piece of iron. He's a man made of straw, doused in gasoline, and that gasp is a flame.

 

He just remembers to holster his revolver again before he shoots either of them in the foot. With that, what self-control he had left has abruptly run out (and a tiny part of himself that is still _himself_  is aghast how _f_ _ast_  he lost it all), and he's grabbing Hanzo by the hair, who lets him, unlike last time, tongue sliding into his mouth and out again and Jesse follows, hunting him down, mindless. Metal fingers fisted in black silk, he twists them around. They hit the wall _hard_ , air pushing out of Hanzo's lungs in another gasp that Jesse swallows, greedy. He presses into the smaller man, uncaring of the fact that he's wearing a breastplate and Hanzo isn't. Half the archer's chest is bare, as usual, and the rough stone of the wall is scraping against his shoulder. Hands encased in archer's gloves are digging into Jesse's neck; without the gloves, those nails would be drawing blood.

 

Jesse doesn't care about any of this. He _wants_.

 

He withdraws his good hand from Hanzo's hip (just when did he put it there, he can't remember, but his fingers _hurt_  when he moves them away, stiff from gripping so hard), tries to slide it into the open front of his whatever-this-kinda-garment-is-called, and is stopped by a short, sharp shove. His eyes blink open, confused, bordering on furious. His attempt to crowd Hanzo back against the wall again is also cut short, but not quite in the way he expected, because the archer simply turns them both around again.

 

Next moment, the thing that Jesse would have bet good money on it never happening, not in this lifetime, timeline, whatever, just not happen, _period_ , is happening: Hanzo going to his knees in front of him (still graceful, is he ever not?).

 

The cowboy's mind, or what part of it hasn't given up on working through all of this, is stuttering like an old Diesel engine trying to start on a drained battery. This is Hanzo. On his knees in front of him, opening his belt and then his trousers, drawing him out. He leans in, and there's that glimmer of liquid brown again, just a sliver of it between not-quite-closed lashes. That's the last thing Jesse sees. His head hits the stone behind him hard enough to make an audible 'crack' and send colorful lights skittering across the black inside of his lids. He makes a choked noise that's not quite a moan, because Hanzo's hot mouth just closed over him and he's _not fucking stopping_ , going down on him like swallowing another bloke's dick is something he does on a daily basis.

 

A question blips up somewhere on the radar of Jesse's consciousness, too complicated for him to process right now, but it boils down to "Why?". It's gone again in an instant, wiped away by the sheer pleasure crackling through him, making him arch into it. His hand is back in Hanzo's hair, gripping hard, and for the second time in a row, the archer has him coming within an embarrassingly short span of time. Only when he's stopped hyperventilating and his mind is done reeling does it occur to Jesse that he could have let him go- scratch that, _should_  have let him go, although.... with how slowly Hanzo withdraws from his softening cock, it doesn't seem to have been a problem. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, licks the light smears of semen off of it, dainty as ever a grooming cat was, stands and backs off a step. And just like that, regal Shimada Hanzo is back, bestowing a cool and collected look on a scruffy bandit by the roadside, as if he hadn't sucked off that same bandit not a minute ago. Before Jesse can get his lips unstuck to ask him what the hell that was, or offer reciprocation, or ask if he's ok, or all of the above, he turns and leaves him there. Apart from his bruised bare shoulder, there's not a sign to show for what just happend, and that he covers by slipping back into the left sleeve of his.... whatever the name was.

 

After a good long while, Jesse follows.

 

.

 

By the time he's made it back to the carrier, he's feeling somewhat composed again. He's also taken a small detour to a public facility where a not-inconsiderable amount of cold water to the face have helped him reach such a state, and where a look in the mirror reassured him that it's not immediately visible to anyone looking at him what happened between Hanzo and him not so long ago.

 

The rest of the team is already there, excitedly recapitulating the events of the mission, congratulating themselves on having made it out alive, and generally burning off excess energy. Tracer especially is mostly visible as a blue streak as she darts around them and the ship, like running laps. She comes to a screeching halt with the approach of Hanzo, the last to return.

 

"Hey, Hanzo!". Blink, she's right in front of him. As expected, Hanzo stiffens instantly. Lena's not deterred by the forbidding look he levels at her, a woman on a mission. "That was some hella good timing back there, you saved a few butts, luv. Just, you know... thanks!". She reaches out, as if to pat him on the back, which he manages to sidestep without actually making it look like he does it. He sidesteps the rest of the teams' congratulations as well, goes to sit in the very back of the carrier, as far away from everyone else as he possibly can, and buckles himself in for the flight back.

 

They leave him alone after that, but his mere presence seems to act as a damper on the general mood. Occasionally, someone will throw him a look, then shake their head. Genji has a hand clamped around a fuming Brigitte's upper arm; the girl looks like she wants nothing more than to rip his older brother a new one. Jesse catches a few words exchanged between them, 'Gitte seething about the ungrateful bastard who can't even accept a thank-you and Genji tiredly telling her to just leave him alone.

 

Jesse tries not to notice how Genji's eyes are the exact same color he imagined Hanzo's to be, back there.

 

The argument between him and Brigitte simmers down and the cyborg lets go of her arm with a last, warning look. Huffing, crossing her arms over her chest, she subsides and leans back and Genji does the same, closing his eyes, looking weary, and there's a moment, blink and you miss it, liquid coffee brown shimmering through dark lashes. Jesse's stomach cramps around an icy block of guilt.

 

He pulls his hat down over his face and pretends to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a.) I obviously headcanon that Genji's eyes haven't been damaged when Hanzo tried to kill him, because in the Dragons short it looks like Hanzo recognizes him by them, and that the weird red glowy thing Blackwatch Genji has going is somehow a trick of his facial armor. 
> 
> b.) I totally sib-ship Genji and Gitte^^ 
> 
> c.) Gitte would NOT take any of Hanzo's BS. Nope.


End file.
